Holy Wars
by Minch
Summary: Malcolm confesses some of his mistakes in life before Enterprise to Trip.


**Title:** Holy Wars

**Author:** Minch

**Spoilers:** Up to "Chosen Realm."

**Rating:** K+

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Trek, it belongs to Paramount.

**Author's Note:** One-shot for the June 2011 word prompt: midnight confessions.

HOLY WARS

Trip could not shake the feeling that Malcolm was hurting and needed someone to talk to tonight. Yeah, he had acted fine after they finished shuttling the Triannons back to what was left of their world, but something about him seemed a little off.

"I think I'm gonna call it a night," he mentioned to his SIC Lieutenant Hannah Hess as he climbed off the platform next to the warp reactor main controls.

"Yes, sir. Goodnight," she said quietly. Trip bid her a good night in return and left. He strolled over to a computer console outside of Main Engineering and pulled up internal sensors. On a normal night, he could count on Malcolm being in his quarters, in the Armoury or in the mess hall. But right now, on this mission to find the Xindi weapon and destroy it before it destroyed Earth, Malcolm could be anywhere. Trip was not in the mood to go traipsing all over the ship.

As luck would have it, Malcolm happened to be in the mess hall. Trip shut down the console and went to the turbo lift. On his way, he ran into Mike Rostov, one of the engineering crewmen.

"Hey Mike," Trip said, looking at the dark circles under Rostov's eyes. "Can't sleep?"

Rostov gave him a bleary smile, "With all due respect, sir, you shouldn't be talking." Trip laughed quietly. He did not mind an occasional joke at his expense, especially when he knew it was true. The neuro-pressure sessions with T'Pol helped a lot, but sometimes he just could not fall asleep. Could not stop thinking about why they were out here, about the swath that had incinerated his hometown of Panama City, Florida. About Elizabeth.

He yanked himself away from the grief and anger behind that door. Another one opened, this one into the lift. He and Rostov entered. "I'm going to E-deck," he mentioned as the doors closed.

"So am I, sir. A lot of the crew has been attending the insomniacs club lately," Rostov said. When they had entered the Expanse, a lot of people could not sleep any better than Trip. On most nights there would usually be ten or so crewmembers in the mess hall. "I think just about everyone has come at least once."

"Yeah. Plenty of snacks, even better food if Chef or one of the stewards comes, people to talk to, people to sit with." The lift doors opened and they exited. It was a bit of a walk to the outer edge of the ship where the mess hall was located, but they made good time. When they went in, Trip noticed right away how quiet the room was. Not that there was a blowout party every night, but tonight people seemed especially subdued. No wonder, considering the day's events.

The memorial service held that afternoon for Crewman Fitzgerald had been especially sobering, even more so because there was no body; she had been vaporized in the explosion. That was too painful of a subject to think about for long. Trip turned back to the present and looked around the room for Malcolm. He was not in his normal spot at the back wall.

Trip stepped back out and made for a console to look at internal sensors again when he stopped.

Where would Malcolm go if he did not want anyone to come looking for him? Not the Armoury or his quarters, those were too obvious. Then Trip had a brain spark. The observation room, of course! Hardly anyone ever went there. He strolled over to the lift and went up to B-deck. A few minutes later, he stood outside the door. Before he could open it, the door slid open to reveal the man he was looking for, as if Malcolm had known he would be coming.

"Hey Malcolm," Trip said. "I didn't see you in the mess hall, so I thought you might be up here."

"I was there, but it was getting a little bit crowded," Malcolm said as he turned back into the room. The observation room was not much. Aside from a large window displaying a dorsal view of the ship, a potted plant in the corner and a few comfy chairs, the room was bare. Malcolm sat down in one of the chairs. Trip plunked himself down in the other. He left the lights on low, content to just have the stars shooting by as the ship moved at warp illuminate the room.

"So, what's up?" Even in the dim, Trip could see Malcolm looking at him like he had sprouted a third eyeball. "Don't think you can hide it, Malcolm. I know something's bothering you."

Whatever it was it must have been something bad, because Malcolm immediately launched into telling him. "Something about the Triannons made me think."

"You wanna talk about it?" Trip prompted. Not that he expected Malcolm to reply right away; usually a crowbar was required to pry the man's feelings out. But this time, they came of their own accord.

"I can't get over the fact that the fighting over how long they think it took to create the 'Chosen Realm' has destroyed their entire civilization."

Trip sighed. "I know."

"But then I think back to Earth's history." Malcolm's voice dropped an octave. "The separation of England from the Roman Catholic church just so that Henry VIII could divorce his wife. The 20th and 21st century wars between religions in the Middle East." He stopped abruptly. Trip waited for him to continue. It was not often that his friend confessed like this, and he did not want to make him crawl back into his shell. They sat in the darkness, watching the stars go by. "Reminded me of the arguments and even fights I had with my father," Malcolm finished. "He never raised a hand against me, or anyone else in the family, but Maddy and I knew better than to disobey him." He sighed. "Right up until my teen years, I followed his orders to the letter and then some. But as I got older, I could not find it in myself to agree with everything he did and said as before." Malcolm glanced at Trip, a little embarrassed. "I was raised in the church, but as I got older, there were parts of it I wasn't sure I really believed in. I'm still not sure how much of it I think is true."

Trip knew exactly how Malcolm felt. He, too, had grown up going to church every Sunday as well, but lately he could not quite bring himself think that a god who professed to love everyone had allowed seven million people to be killed. "That wasn't all that Father and I couldn't come to terms on," Malcolm continued. "It got so bad that I left home for the States." He started to fiddle with the chair arm.

"Where did you go?" Trip asked quietly.

"New York, for a while. I travelled some, worked a few odd jobs. Then, one day, a Starfleet recruiter came to the place where I worked. My life in the city wasn't going anywhere, so I went with him to San Francisco I told myself that I'd joined Starfleet to get off the streets, but—" Malcolm stopped again, seeming to gather himself. "Subconsciously, I think I wanted to get back to a more structured life. So I threw myself heart and soul into it. I made myself eat the same three meals every day for a year. I worked out and learned every fight move I could. Spent all my free time in the ordnance department. And then—" He sounded like he was going to continue, but cut himself off. "Well, here I am." Trip waited a few seconds to make sure he really was done, then spoke.

"If it makes you feel any better, I spent a while living like that, too. I was seventeen when my friends and I decided to leave home, just sail around the Gulf of Mexico on a boat we'd stolen." Now it was Malcolm's turn to stare. Trip just smiled back ruefully. "We made it about three days before we got caught in this nasty storm. We lost all of our supplies, sprung a bad leak, barely made it out in the lifeboat. A few days later, another boat came up. It was piloted by an older guy who offered us passage back to shore. Probably not the best idea, but we were desperate, hungry and thirsty. So we got on board."

"Did you get word back to your parents?"

"Yeah, as soon as we got into Biloxi port. Turns out this guy, Jeff Lyle he said his name was, happened to be an old friend of my dad's. I went straight home and they gave me a talking-to like you've never seen. They were goin' to ground me for about fifty years, but Lyle stepped in and said he could take me on his boat and teach me some responsibility and stuff like that. So he did. I worked like a slave sometimes, but he was always fair. Learned a lot about engineering from him."

"Really? You became one of the best engineers in all of Starfleet from working with boat engines?"

"Yes, I did. The basic concept isn't all that different, especially with Lyle's engine. He built it himself, he said. Followed Zefram Cochrane's design, but tweaked it a little for a boat." Trip laughed when he saw Malcolm's bemused expression. "I'm just joking."

"At least you went back and made peace with your parents."

"At least you didn't get into anything as serious and stupid as I did. Come on, if Jeff hadn't shown up when he did, we would have died out there."

"I suppose so," Malcolm replied. "But your conflict is resolved. I'm still not at peace with mine."

"It's better than the resolution the Triannons made for themselves." Trip stood up and put a hand on Malcolm's shoulder. "Write him a letter, like you did in the shuttlepod that time."

Malcolm considered it. "Alright. I'll do it." Trip squeezed his shoulder, then went toward the door.

"You comin'?"

"I'd like to sit here for a while, collect my thoughts," Malcolm said. Trip opened the door and was about to leave when Malcolm called, "Trip?"

"Mm-hmm?"

"Thanks. For listening."

"Anytime, Malcolm." With that, Trip left him to his thoughts.

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"Anytime, Malcolm," Trip said before letting the door slide close. In the silence, Malcolm considered his life. He had not been able to bring himself to tell Trip that, even after he had turned over a new leaf, trouble had still found him. He had joined an agency simply known as Section 31. At first it was fun, but as time went by, he saw that the Section was not the place for him. The values his father had instilled in him made sure of that, and he was not going to turn his back on them a second time. No, he left the Section behind and joined the honest, official side of Starfleet's security force. He had no intention of going back.

Malcolm thought of the other conflicts in Earth's past that came about when two conflicting ideas clashed. Not just religion, but economic systems, values, prejudices, lifestyles. History was embarrassingly full of these wars all because those involved could not find a peaceful solution.

His problem was not really like that anymore. He had learned to accept part of his father's ideals. It was more of admitting to him that he, Malcolm, had been wrong to leave. He was not even sure he could write a letter, let alone talk to him face-to-face. But time was running out. Five crewmembers were already dead on this mission, and Malcolm knew in his heart that there would be many more despite his best efforts to keep them all alive. He could be one of them. With that in mind, he walked out of the room to his quarters to begin writing that letter.

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**I apologize if I offended anyone's beliefs. But, whether you liked it or not, please review!**


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